


Archangel

by Orthane



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Angels exist, Crossover, Daddy Issues, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I have no idea what I'm doing, Original Character-centric, Undecided Relationship(s), also, don't they all have them?, god when do the feels stop?, his powers are also different, oc-insert, p.s. I will not be following Angel's movie or comic canon, pps falcon lowkey is a jealous bro, warren-centric, whats that?, will add other characters as they appear, writing?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21529807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orthane/pseuds/Orthane
Summary: or The Bits and Pieces of the Local Marvel Bird-Brain. (And no, I'm not talking about Hawkeye.) OC-Insert into the X-Men member Angel aka Archangel.
Kudos: 7





	1. Log #1

I have wings.

I have motherfucking wings.

I stared at the 9-year-old reflection of me in the bathroom mirror.

Arranged from largest to smallest, the scissor, knife, and razor lay on the sink—the glint of the medal shining tantalizingly to me. (Was it a bird thing to be attracted to shiny objects?)

I mean, I knew I was reincarnated as Angel from X-Men, but holy shit did it not seem as real as it did at the moment. When I woke up a few days ago with a numb feeling in some weird area of my back, I nearly fainted with fright as I rolled over and touched the new limbs. For days, they grew inch by inch with feathers also making a complete appearance, making them look less like the disturbing bare chicken wings sprouting out of my back in the beginning.

I reached behind my back with small arms and tugged on the pathetic looking things.

They were scruffy and poorly groomed which immediately caught my attention and gave me a strong compulsion to fix them.

I nearly punched myself. 'Forget fixing them, you idiot! How are you going to hide them from Dad?'

The guy wasn’t really mutant friendly, truth be told, but thankfully he wasn’t so much of a bigot that he wanted them to be wiped out of existence. It was more like he thought that they were unnatural and didn’t really have a place in society.

Which wasn’t really any better in my books.

I angrily slammed the lid of the toilet shut and sat on it, pulling on my curly hair anxiously. “Shit.”

Before any tears could fall, I scrubbed my face and stopped my throat from releasing any noise.

God, my eyes burned and my throat ached to release loud sobs but I didn’t want to alert my father of anything wrong. He was right outside fixing his tie and if he heard a peep from me, the scene would roll out like it had in the film, but I was stuck in the bathroom and I knew I had to leave the safety of the area eventually. 

After a few minutes, I tried to find any way to approach my father and imagined every reaction—all of them didn’t give me any comfort. There was no way I was going to get out of this with a happily ever after. 

In the end, it became too much, so I just lifted my jacket to my face and cried silently.

There was a soft knock on the door. “Hey, bud, just wanted to tell you that I’m off to work. Come out so that I can see you.”

“Uh, um, s-sorry, Dad.” I said while trying to stabilize my voice, and wiped my face from tears quickly. “I’m busy right now.”

“Oh, okay. See you later then. Love you, son.” He told me without an ounce of concern or suspicion.

“Yeah, l-love you too.”

—

I was right.

It didn’t turn out well whatsoever.

After a few weeks, my wings grew too large to ignore and became near impossible to hide. I had no choice but to show my father the cursed mutation.

But my god, the look on his face when he took a glance at me and then my wings after I revealed them…

Pure, unadulterated disgust and shock.

He stared at me like he didn’t know who I was, and after a minute of stifling silence, he wordlessly walked away.

Walked away. Just like that.

I stared at his back, expecting him to say something. To tell me of his disgust, his disappointment, or at least his confusion. Maybe even disown me and kick me out of the streets—but do something! No, he just left me to deal with this by myself like he would his staff when they were in a mess and didn’t know what to do.

After a few days, when I was faced with a complete disregard and was stuck with no one to help me through my condition, anger began to bubble in my chest. Eventually, my anger with him slowly grew to enormous proportions. I wanted to smash my way into his office—his safe haven from all the responsibilities of the world—and scream at his face until he'd notice me. I wanted to yell at him that he was a coward. Always ignoring things that didn’t go his way and then leaving the rest of the world to clean up after him.

A small part of me almost wanted to hate him for abandoning me. His own flesh and blood.

His son.


	2. Log #2

Over the years, we became near strangers to each other. Only seeing each other once a month or so and in those encounters we barely spoke, just busying ourselves—him with his business calls and me with my homework—to avoid awkward conversations.

Although he might have been lacking in the love department, I had to give him credit where it was do and mention the most important thing that he did provide me with, and that was education.

He would hire tutors to teach me and watch over my progress. Later, I would discover that those tutors would have to first sign a contract swearing the secrecy of my Mutation, which made me lose even more hope for ever gaining my freedom. It made me wonder how far would he go to keep me secret.

In those years, I focused on my education and devoured every textbook and material they threw at me. Obviously, I was using my previous life’s knowledge to cheat through learning and skip large portions of the instruction.

Yet, even with the cheat that was reincarnation, I did work hard and did my utmost to finish as soon as possible. Lord, never had I felt so accomplished in my life—lives?—when at only age 13, I had finished all of my high school education and graduated—and not only graduated, but graduated with top scores.

I did do it all because I could—I mean, I would have finished early even without my Mutation—but really, I did it because I didn’t want to get stuck in Xavier’s and be manipulated and guilt-tripped into becoming an X-Men. 

They’d admonish me with their holier-than-thou attitude and ask me the one question that I loathed to hear: Why have powers and not use it for the greater good?

Pshhh. I’ll give you some fucking examples as to why not. 

Exhibit A: Spiderman

Exhibit B: Every other freaking superhero that exists.

Life as a Super is a guaran-damn-tee that your personal life is going to be shot to hell and everyone around you is going to suffer the consequences of your actions. So no thank you. That superhero shit might have been for the original Angel, but it’s definitely not for me.


	3. Log #3

Online college barely started at the time, and I couldn’t dare attend a public college; my father forbid me. So I forced him to give me the next best thing.

To continue my higher education in secrecy.

My father sent someone in my place to learn, copy, and record all lectures and then come back to me with the content. I would take all of it and learn it comprehensively, and sometimes when there were gaps in my knowledge, I would go search for it myself. 

I forced myself to grow out of my procrastination and become more productive in my current life. My former one was full of failure and little accomplishment, and there was absolutely no way that I was going to allow myself to live another meaningless existence. It was enough that I lived nearly thirty years consuming and working, with absolutely nothing to show, so this time around, I was absolutely motivated to live my life to the fullest and make much of the second chance that I was given. 

And under no circumstance was I going to allow my Mutation to hinder my process. I saw it as an obstacle to my success—a miracle too—but something as simple as my appearance ruining any chance of success was something people of color had struggled with for centuries. Interesting how humans now had another thing to visibly judge people about. (As if ethnicity, gender, and religion wasn't enough.)

It was a long and meticulous process, but in the end it was all worth it. With nothing to do but study, I had cultivated studious habits which led to a much more intelligent mind that I had before in my previous life.

No way was I a one-in-a-billion genius like lets say, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Dr. Pim, or Shuri who pulled inventions and scientific breakthroughs out of their asses, but I was way above what was called brilliant in the school system.


	4. Log #4

Okay, so not to brag or anything… but puberty hit me really, really well. Like extremely well.

So well that even my father mentioned once that I could’ve made a hell of a career out of modeling if I didn’t have my wings. 

It made me wonder, where did I get my looks? I mean, it couldn’t have been all father because that dude was slightly above average at best. And my mother? Well, she was pretty, but did not look the slightest bit like me. Grandparents were also crossed off the list when I saw photographs of them.

Was it my Mutation?

Could it be that Angel wasn’t only called “Angel” for being a human with wings like the holy entities, but for also looking overall angelic?

Or shit, maybe I did something to open up a second mutation that the Original Angel never had, because yeah, in the movies he was “handsome” so to speak (Sorry, I have different and more higher standards regarding beauty compared to normal people, but then again, not sorry, because people’s judgements and taste is shit these days.) but boy, he did’t have a single inch on this handsome mug. 

Alright, now I’m bragging, but how could I not when I’m easily the most handsome dude I’d ever seen in my entire life, and with a previous addiction to social media—Instagram, man, how I miss it!—in my past life, that’s quite a feat.

Now that I think about it, it’s going to be fucking difficult going out in public and not be immediately noticed, and I’m not even including the whole freak show with the wings.


	5. Log #5

Okay, so what if I wore a mask? I mean, if there was any probability that I could ever sneak out, at least they wouldn’t figure out my identity right? Right?

…

But there might be a possibility that people could mistaken me for either a superhero or villain.

Fuck. Then I’m going to have to start going out only at night… or at least conceal my face somehow so that even if they discover my wings, they still wouldn’t know my identity.

I remember the look on my father’s face after he visited not too soon after a growth spurt and some drastic body and facial developments. The guy couldn’t look away from my face. It wasn’t so much as disturbing, because I knew he wasn’t a freakin’ child molester and to a lesser degree when it came to his son, but it really was uncomfortable because my own father adopted the very same behavior my maids and servants had whenever in my presence. All awestricken and distracted, fumbling through tasks or even the mere act of talking to me.

Shortly after the process of my puberty began and they started acting out of character, I had to dismiss the help from their job and send them elsewhere.

It was depressing and annoying, being secluded from human population as a whole, but it was a whole other level not having any human interaction whatsoever now that my maids and butlers were out of the picture. 

Again, I was alone.


	6. Log #6

My wings were humongous.

When I opened them, they spanned over 3 meters—nothing close to how small they were in the movie. And when I folded them, they were over a foot over my head and nearly brushed the floor.

It annoyed me constantly to see the edges always dirty from brushing against the floor. My bird instincts hated it, making me always wash them. Exasperatingly, I couldn’t fold them or tie them up like hair because the feathers were abnormally strong and wouldn’t bend with any amount of pressure. Clipping them was out of the picture but that option never appealed to me anyway. Clipping my wings like some caged bird and losing the ability to fly? Nope.

I walked away from the mirror, stretching my arms over my head and my wings expanding in the wide space of my room that I asked for. I flapped them and few times and sighed at the deliciousness of having them relaxed from their folded place in my back.

Opening the doors to the balcony, I sauntered up the ledge and stepped up onto it. It was an easy task to balance on it with my natural bird abilities and my wings to distribute the weight.

I stood there three stories high, arms folded and looking straight down. Lifting one leg forward...

I fell.

Three beats with my wings a second later and I was soaring over 20 meters in the air. To be honest, my wings were pretty damn fast. Maybe even faster than a car, but I never had the opportunity to race one so I wouldn’t know.

I should deliberate on that in the near future, I thought and archived the thought for later.

For maybe an hour, I quite literally stretched my wings flying around the garden and generally had great time doing aerial tricks. 

I also wanted to familiarize myself with my wings and feel instinctual moving around with them while also building stamina, and what better way to do that than fun?

Once I felt my wings straining considerably from overuse, which occurred less and less nowadays, I brought myself down and folded my shivering wings back, allowing them some rest.

“Sir, your breakfast,” said a greying, old butler set the tray of food on a nearby table and folded his arms behind his back.

Dave, my butler, was extremely near sighted and only used his glasses outside of my presence. With many trials and repeated failure, I discovered that my mutation was muted to an extent if a person wasn’t directly looking at me. Once I had learned this, I quickly set off to find someone who couldn’t see very well—but not blind, of course—and could do his job without the lack of vision getting in the way. Fortunately, Dave was let go during the time I was searching because of his deficient eyesight and age. 

In his interview he had proved to me that none of this affected him. I noticed he reacted substantially less to my appearance than any interviewee I encountered and obtained one of the sharpest minds I had ever witnessed. It was then that I canceled all the other interviews I had lined up and hired him not a day later.

I carefully sat myself in my seat, which was basically a stool, and picked up my fork. The breakfast was impeccably made, as usual.

“Thanks, Dave.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

As I ate, I became increasingly irritated with the way my wings were being pressed against the floor since I was sitting low to the ground. With a swift move, I brought my wings forward so that they encompassed both sides of the table and nearly hid me from the outside world.

Dave stood not far away from where I was eating, so he startled lightly when the ends of my wings brushed him and blinked a few times in surprise. He raised a hand to his face and brushed the area I touched lightly—marveling if the silken touch was by my feathers. 

“Sir?” He enquired quietly. 

I brought a wing low so that I could look over it and at him. “Sorry, Dave. Just getting comfortable.”

He raised his brows slightly, but knew of my dilemma since it occurred nearly every time I sat. “Of course, sir.”

There was another silence as I continued eating, but eventually Dave broke it with a hesitant question. “Sir, may I ask a question?”

I grew curious since he never the type to instigate a conversation and put my fork down. “Of course, ask away.”

“Was your feathers that touched my face?” He looked a little regretful with the way he phrased his question and tried to amend it. “I mean, whatever it was felt so soft… It was unlike anything I have ever felt.”

True, the feathers felt incredibly soft as they brushed my shoulders and arms—softer than the finest silk I had ever encountered. “Yes, those were my feathers.” 

He smiled instantly at my confession and touched his face again. “Truly, you are blessed, sir.”

Surprised, I stammered out a thanks and touched my wings self-consciously. No one had ever told me that, but granted they never got close enough to me both, physically or metaphorically, to be able to say it. 

After a beat I asked on whim, “Do you want to feel them again?”

It was his turn to look thrown. “I-I, thank you but that is not necessary.”

Still, I stood up—my stool screeching against the patio’s marble floor—and approached him. “No, no it’s fine. You can touch them again.”

Over the year of his employment, I had become quite fond of him. His constant and entertaining presence quickly made an impact in my daily life and moods, and since he really looked like he had enjoyed the touch, I wanted to make him happy again.

He took a step back when he heard my footsteps nearing, although he looked very well tempted to accept my offer. “Mr. Worthington, please, it is not acceptable. Thank you, but I must decline.”

“It’s fine,” I insisted and took one of his hands. For a moment, he resisted, but he must of decided that it was more appropriate to give in than fight me off. 

I would never forget the look on his face when I maneuvered his hand to lie on my right wing. It was nearly a look of rapture and awe. After a few seconds, his fingers slowly stroked my feathers and he released a slow breath.

I too was in a state of shock, and not only because it was the first time in years that anyone had touched me, but because of his reaction to touching me. Thankfully, there was no sign of him experiencing any sexual emotions, only of reverence and bliss. He looked like he was experiencing the most magical moment of his life and didn’t want it to stop. 

Almost instantly, I regretted my actions. The attention made me feel uncomfortable and unworthy, and honestly, pretty sickened with myself. If my Mutation was going to manipulate people’s emotions like this, maybe it was better to distance myself from humanity entirely.

I took a slow step back and his delighted expression faltered along with his hand. He stood there disorientated and it took him some time to get himself back together. His hand dropped to his side but his fingers continued to rub against each other, as if he were still touching my wings. 

“Was that your Mutation?” He asked in a whisper.

“Yes,” I answered slowly, “but didn’t know that I could do that. I’m so, so sorry.”

Dave shook his head swiftly. “No, no, don’t apologize. I never experienced anything so divine, thank you.”

Divine. I hated his use of the word so I told him abruptly, “Don’t call it divine. I am not divine.” 

“Y-yes,” he admitted, taken back by my fierce declaration. “Of course, sir, as you say.”

I drew out a long breath and wished that my immense need to please people never overcame my strict sense of self control. None of this should ever have happened.

“Thank you, Dave, for the delicious meal,” I eventually said and took a few more steps back while subconsciously keeping my wings constricted together at my back. “I’m going to be gone for a few hours and will be home for dinner at the usual time.”

He became visibly disappointed with my retreat but did not say anything since it wasn’t his place to. “Yes, sir. Have a good day.”

“You too,” I replied—a hint of sadness finding it's way in my emotionless tone—and lifted off into the air.


End file.
